My friend knew when and how she would die
I only knew Michelle for a month, but it was truly a month to remember. I first met her when she was carving out my high school bully’s eye with a butter knife, and we were more or less inseparable after that. She was a few years older than me, so of course I fell instantly in love, but I knew deep down we were destined for friendship and little else. I knew this deep down because she made it clear that she was gonna die in roughly a month. Can’t love a dead chick, she’d say. At first I thought it was just a clever way to avoid the awkwardness of turning me down, but at some point I came close to believing her. It was just something about her, something extremely...free. Careless and unconfined. Refreshingly brave and outspoken and honest. When I met her I was going through the most depressing period of my life. I was constantly bullied and belittled at school, my younger twin sisters were both hospitalized, each needing a transplant to survive (Jenna needed a heart, Chloe needed kidneys), and my parents had their hands full covering the medical expenses. I think we all in our own ways were on the verge of just giving up, of just letting go. I was saved by Michelle. I have no doubt about it. If she hadn’t shown up when Brett was beating the shit out of me, I would have killed myself that day. I was just so sick of it, sick of the beating, sick of the abuse, sick of being alone. But Michelle came out of nowhere, threw him into the wall, knocked his nose half-way up his brain, and proceeded to dig out his left eye with the aforementioned cutlery. He never touched me again. You’d think she’d get into to trouble after doing something like that. But it was never reported. Brett claimed it had been an accident, that he’d crashed with his moped. I think he feared that Michelle would kill him if he said otherwise. I for one have no doubt she would have. That was just who she was. Michelle never went to school. She said it was because she knew she was gonna die. Why bother with bullshit like school then. No, she was all about enjoying life to the fullest, kicking assholes in the face, fucking over people who fucked over others. She wanted to leave this world a better place than she found it, and by her logic this was done exclusively by ridding it of shitbags, one way or another. “How do you know you’re gonna die?” I asked her once. “My parents tell me,” she said, “Every day. And they’re good for their word.” She wouldn’t explain it in detail. Just that she was raised knowing the exact date and time of her death, down to the very second. And that it was meant to be. That’s what they told her. In death, her life would have meaning. At first I didn’t think much of it, you know. She was a crazy girl, and she always said weird stuff like that. I was kinda banking on it all being some bizarre joke or something, but when the month drew to a close, I was getting really worried it might all be true. I’d grown too attached to her. Every minute I wasn’t at school or the hospital was spent with her, and the thought of losing her, my only friend, made me horribly depressed. That last week I was really on edge. The twins were in bad shape, and my parents were spending every waking minute at the hospital. They had yet to find any donor matches, and time was running out. It felt like my time was running out too. The dark thoughts were returning, and I started imagining how I would kill myself should Michelle ever leave me. I found it strange that she’d never invited me home. I mean, friends do that, right? Invite each other over. She’d been to our house several times, she even crashed on the couch a few times, and we would often watch movies there, raid my parents liquor-cabinet, get wasted and generally just have fun. But I’d never been to her house. Not once. I didn’t even know where she lived. So one night I just decided to follow her. What was there to lose, really? Maybe I could get some answers from her parents or something. Some way to explain why she was so convinced she was dying. Maybe they lied to her? Some sort of cult? A way to form her beliefs into accepting the unacceptable. A way to control her. I stalked her for thirty minutes, lurking in the shadows as she paced down the streets. When she headed to the outskirts I started getting worried, and when she took the narrow trail through the forest I was almost having a full on panic-attack. Where the hell was she heading? As far as I knew, there weren’t any houses for miles. About halfway into the forest, I suddenly lost her. It was like she vanished without a trace. I walked back and forth, up and down, but there was just no sign of her at all. Eventually I had to give up and return home, my mind growing ever darker. I remember the last day like it was yesterday. Every minute of it, crisp and clear and vivid in my mind. Every scent, every sound, every muscle moving on her perfect face, all those smiles and kind words. Everything. The last day came and went, but I didn’t know it was the last day. If I’d known, I would have told her how much I cared for her, how much she meant to me, how much I owed her my life and sanity. Without her I wouldn’t be alive. But I didn’t know, and I never told her. I hope she somehow realised it, that she could see it in my eyes and actions every day, but I can never be sure. She just acted so normal, you know. She was Michelle that day too. Same carefree spirit, the same wild, devil-may-care attitude. We spent the afternoon smoking weed, watching silly cartoons, laughing and just enjoying each others company. But when she left, I knew something was up. I don’t know how. I guess there was some detail, some little thing that alarmed me, but having replayed and analyzed that day over and over in my mind, I can’t think of anything. Nothing. But I knew. So I followed her again. This time I stayed closer, always having her in my sights, always knowing exactly where she was. She was walking considerably slower that night, almost like she knew I was behind her. Almost like she wanted me to follow her. The air was cold and crisp, and whenever autumn draws close, I can step outside, take a deep breath, and relive the exact moment when she suddenly turned on her heels to face me. “This is it,” she said, “This is the day I die.” She walked over to me and handed me an envelope. It was light, but there was definitely something in it. A letter perhaps. “You will need this,” she stroked my hair gently, “When the time comes, you’ll know what to do with it.” “I don’t understand,” I said, “Please, let’s just leave. Let’s just get out of here.” She smiled and kissed me on the cheek. If I concentrate real hard I can still conjure up the smell of her perfume. “This is goodbye,” she murmured softly, “But you will come to understand that it was always meant to be.” I reached out to hug her when they emerged from the darkness. Two tall figures clad in dark robes, an old man and an elderly woman, their milky-white hair flowing gently in the breeze. They had this solemn expression on their faces, the kind you’d see in funerals, an expression of acceptance to sorrow and despair because it is just a part of life. Michelle pushed me away forcefully, and by the time I’d regained my balance it was already too late. Her throat had been slit from either side of her neck. A perfect cross, left to right, right to left. Blood was squirting out, coloring the dull brown of the roadside a deep shade of crimson. The robed couple swiftly stepped back into the shadows, leaving me desperately clutching the lifeless body of Michelle, screaming my lungs out, wailing like an animal into the cold night. The paramedics came ten minutes later. I have no idea who called them. Anonymous, they later told me. She had no ID on her, so they asked me a bunch of questions. I didn’t know the answer to any of them. She was Michelle. That was all I knew. Her name was Michelle. She was my friend, and she was the best person I’d ever met. They let me ride the ambulance to the hospital, but they quickly pronounced her dead. She’d lost too much blood, they told me. It wasn’t my fault. There wasn’t anything I could have done. This didn’t offer me much comfort. I was devastated. Totally broken, the dark thoughts resurfacing once again, this time with more power than ever before. “What’s that in your hand,” one of the paramedics asked, “Does that belong to Michelle?” I glanced at the envelope. It was completely drenched in blood, much like me. And then it suddenly hit me. I don’t know what it was, but it was like she told me; when the time comes, you’ll know what to do with it. So without thinking, I just handed it over to him. He sort of held it up, like he’d somehow see through it if he got a better angle of it, before he gently opened it. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. --- I am better now. I still have problems understanding what happened, but I am better. I have come to terms with it. With the fact that everything happened just the way it was supposed to happen. And it has shaped me, shaped my life into what I am today. Michelle didn’t just save me. She saved my entire family. Every aspect of my life. And I guess you’re wondering what was in that envelope. Maybe you’d figured it out, maybe not. It was a donor card. And as it turned out, she was a perfect match for my twin sisters. Can’t love a dead chick, she said. That’s the only thing she was ever wrong about. Category:Fanfic Category:Creepypasta